The Best Man
by LuckyGirly
Summary: Sixth and seventh year through Sirius's eyes...fights, confusing kisses, weird relatives, funerals, Lily and James, projects, Dorcas, and most of all...friendships that break and build through time.
1. Six and a half shots

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related works belong to J.K. Rowling and all affiliated companies, not me.

* * *

I think the first time I spotted her was about third year.

Third year was the year we—when I say we, of course I mean the Marauders—became interested in girls. I mean, we'd finally gotten over the childish fear of cooties, we'd sort of noticed the opposite sex. At night, we might swap stories about our daily excursions, conversations or conquests, all while eating as much chocolate and butterbeer as we could swallow (we'd become quite proficient at the art).

Lily—or Evans, as I sometimes refer to her—oftentimes, nowadays, I call her Potter, and the implications of that simple word get her so bright red with embarrassment and anger that it's worth the temper tantrum that will inevitably follow.

I'd already had my first 'flirtatious conversation' with a blonde girl in my year, Sandra Mellow, so I was feeling pretty good that day. We, the famous Marauders, had been sitting under the shade of an oak tree, plotting our latest prank against Severus—or Snivellus, as we liked to call him. James, Remus and Peter had gone to get some diagram boards, quills, ink, and other supplies for drawing out the finer intricacies of the plan. I was sitting, quite alone, under the tree, watching Hogwarts' lazy masses of students chat and laugh in the late afternoon sun.

Then I saw her.

Well, her red hair, more precisely, which was shining prettily in the waning sun. She was sitting and talking with her friends, and I watched her pretty green eyes light up with happiness as she talked comfortably with her friends. Occasionally she would throw her head back and just unrestrainedly laugh, which I thought was about the cutest and funniest thing I'd ever seen.

After watching her long, red hair and her eyes—like emeralds, really—I decided to go over and talk to her. After all, I had a newfound confidence where girls were concerned. Just as Lily and her two fellow Gryffindors were standing up and collecting their textbooks to leave, I stood up. I must say I did a bit of a swagger even then, which must have looked awfully humorous on a third-year—mind, on a third-year of my caliber and handsomeness, it very well might have looked very attractive.

In fact, I'm sure it looked very attractive.

(James insists that my third-year swagger was easily the funniest thing he's ever seen. I, however, think he's just jealous. He hasn't got the famous, trademark-Sirius girl-attracting swagger.)

However, he has got the girl.

Anyway, back to that fateful late afternoon in our third year.

I stood up and swaggered over to the chit-chatting group. I walked right up to Lily, and she didn't notice me till I was practically under her nose. Okay, bad comparison, since I'm at least six feet while she's a petite five-two. Obviously, I wasn't six feet in third year, but I was certainly taller than Lily.

She looked a bit surprised to see me there--after all, I WAS, even back as a thirteen-year-old, one of Hogwarts' most popular men. I noticed just then that she had the faintest, most delicate smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. They were cute, and I saw them in the light of the soon-setting sun.

"Hello!" I said to Lily, gallantly offering my hand out for her to shake.

She accepted it, looking a bit surprised. She shook my hand back, though, and I remember feeling how small her little pale hand felt in comparison to my bigger, tan one.

"Hello. Who are you?" she asked, but not unkindly. She was peering at me as if I was some kind of unidentified lab specimen.

"I'm Sirius Black, and you?"

"Lily Evans." She replied, her hair still glinting prettily.

"Nice to meet you, Lily Evans." I said, smiling at her. She smiled at me too, although I don't know to this day if it was out of politeness or that she actually wanted to smile at me.

Her two friends were glancing at me and Lily, then at each other, and giggling—inexplicably, though, because really, what was there to giggle about? Lily, however, ignored her two giggling friends and kept right on talking to me.

"If you don't mind me asking this, why are you introducing yourself to me now?" she questioned.

"Why not?" I asked, pushing back a lock of black hair out of my face.

"We've been in the same year for two-and-a-half years, and you're bothering to introduce yourself now?" asked Lily, and you could almost see a crinkle of confusion forming in her forehead.

"Do I need a reason to prompt a show of friendliness to a fellow classmate?" I asked in my most charming voice.

This caused Lily's two friends to giggle even more, as if it was the most humorous thing ever said. I mean, I know I'm witty and all, but this was taking things a bit too far.

"No, I guess not." Lily said, still studying me with a slight smile gracing her lips.

She then turned to her friends, who promptly increased their giggling under her stare. I picked one forgotten textbook up and placed it on the stack that she grasped. She smiled at the gesture.

"Well, it was nice meeting you—Sirius Black." She said, almost jokingly, only with sincerity, too. It's difficult to explain, but I do my best. She and her friends set off across the lawn, and I watched that red head bob all the way back to the castle, flanked by two eagerly chattering (and most likely, giggling) friends.

"You too—Lily Evans!" I half-shouted, a bit too late really, when they were half way across Hogwarts' grassy slope.

She turned her head back to me, mid-walk when she heard this, smiled (I could still see it from a distance), and waved to me, before resuming her walking.

I waved eagerly too, even though her back was facing me.

That night, when James rattled on about his recent conquest—Celine Saunders--I kept quiet about my conversation with the redhead with eyes like emeralds, even though James, Remus and Peter demanded the reason of my overly happy smile every other second.

* * *

Third year soon melted into fourth year. Lily and I became even better friends, and as such, both of our "groups" sometimes mixed—that is, at times sitting together at lunch, quidditch games (although me and James played on the Gryffindor team, of course), and just hung out in the common room. Lily's friends—Annie and Cattie (her name was really Catherine, but refused to be called that), joined our group, establishing friendships with us, the Marauders.

Annie and Remus began going out around fifth year, which is when a lot of things changed. And not just the change of Remus and Annie giving each other the trademark lovesick-puppy glances and snogging in broom cupboards (who knew Remus had it in him!). This was the year when Lily and James really…erm, met.

I mean, of course they knew each other vaguely, through the connection of me, but they only spoke the occasional word at dinner—for example—"Can you pass the salt?" or, "Your quill fell off your desk." Or something equally trivial.

Ah, but then came the fateful day when the two truly met.

All of us—that is, me, James, Remus, Peter, Lily, Annie, and Cattie, were all sprawled out across a big, circular couch. It was quite nifty; we could face each other, and there was even a big desk, for doing homework, in the middle.

Remus and Annie were snogging on the couch (to the advice of "Get a room!" by James), Peter and I were plotting a particularly amazing prank (in which all the Slytherins' hair turned bright, flashing red and gold which would not wear off all day), Cattie was completing some potions homework; Lily was rereading her Transfiguration essay for what seemed like the thousandth time, and James was wrinkling his nose as he tried to decipher his charms homework.

After a few minutes of contemplating the offending sheet of parchment, James threw it down onto the table in annoyance.

"Sirius!" he complained, from the other side of the comfortable couch. I looked up from me and Pete's notes on the ingredients of the hair-color potion we were planning on brewing.

"What?" I said.

"Help me with this bloody charms homework?" he whined.

For everybody knows that I, while my homework is seldom done, excel in all my classes. And that's not just me being modest.

"Can't, we're planning the Hair-Color-Changing-Operation!"

James grumbled loudly, sinking further into the couch. Lily lifted her eyes from her miniscule print of her essay and sighed audibly.

"If you want, I'll help you." Lily said, trying to be nice.

James looked at her, a bit surprised at this offer, for a moment. Then he said, "Thanks."

"It's alright. Now, let's go to that table over there so that we can focus better." She suggested, pointing to a small wooden table with two chairs, over in the removed, far corner of the common room.

James followed her, and the two sat across from each other on the wooden desk.

I think we all knew something monumental was happening, really.

Lily would gently rifle through the textbook and point something out for James to read; James would read it and write it down; James would make a funny remark; Lily would smile and look at him and giggle.

It was the giggle that gave it away.

Lily had NEVER giggled ever before, let me tell you. Her two best friends, Annie and Cattie, were professionals at the complicated sport of giggling, but Lily never giggled. She was never one of those girls who wore lipstick or gossiped over boys or anything all the other Gryffindor girls seemed to do 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Here I was, though, and besides from giggling, I noticed her tilt her head back and laugh appreciatively at something James had said.

It was the laugh I'd seen in third year, when Lily and I first met.

Her hair was shining, as always, and you could see, if you looked closely, the individual fire-red strands. Her innocent green eyes and that dainty sprinkle of barely-there freckles on the bridge of her nose.

I watched Lily giggle (again!), point something out in the book to James, and then push some of James's hair out of his eyes.

I tried to keep concentrating on the ingredients needed for the potions—four finely chopped eyes of newt, steamed—a teaspoon of crushed chrysanthemum flower—ten one-inch long tarantula legs—but I couldn't. Whenever I went back to the thick Potions book I heard a faint voice of Lily's, informing James about the vanishing charm, or giggling; James making charming remarks and the scratch of his quill making scribbled answers on the parchment.

That night in fifth year, when we went up to bed, we all knew James inability to stop smiling was not because of his successfully completed charms homework.

And as we drank our nightly butterbeer and ate our fill of chocolate, he kept silent, with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye exactly like I'd had, just two years before.

* * *

Time passed, things happened. Exams were taken, people broke up, people got together again, people broke up again. Quidditch games were played, classes were taken, pranks were pulled. We lived life as normal sixteen year olds, who had not a worry in the world, beyond quidditch and exams and relationships and such.

It was in sixth year that Lily and James got together, after a long year of flirting and secret conversations once everybody had gone to bed. I still remember how Lily beamed, but was as red as a raspberry, and how James grinned somewhat embarrassedly, as they walked to breakfast—holding hands—the morning they got together.

Sure, I was happy for them. I'd be a terrible best friend if I wasn't. I was just—oh, I don't know. It hurt for me. I was the one who'd, in some way, caused this love and I'd gotten nothing for it. I'd liked Lily first, two years before James even noted her existence. It annoyed me, but I put up with it and tried to be happy for the two, as they looked at each other with doe eyes and as James sent roses to her.

I gritted my teeth and bore it and put on fake smiles and I did my part quite well, if I do say so myself.

They were the perfect couple, to be sure. They looked wonderful with each other—James, the tall, hazel-eyed quidditch played with floppy bangs that Lily continually attempted to smooth down. Lily, the small, petite redhead, with eyes like emeralds and a smile that lit up the room.

And while they celebrated the whole year as if it was all one big Valentines' day, it was strange.

Because we—the Marauders, of course—had ceased having those nightly butterbeer-and-chocolate while talking about girls conversations. James was sometimes up late being romantic, meeting Lily for a dessert in the room of requirement, or just meeting up with her. Remus also continued to see Annie, and they too ventured out for walks by the lake and other excursions. Peter had even found a little Hufflepuff girl and rather pompously strutted around with her, during the late hours of the evening. And I was with whichever fling I wished, or else planned our pranks, all alone in our dormitory.

And although I was extremely happy for my best friends' good fortune, I couldn't help but miss those nightly talks, sometimes about pranks too, and it wasn't just about the butterbeer or chocolate any longer.

Sixth year passed normally. Everything went as it should. I had several more flings, one of which was Elizabeth Lock, a raven-haired, ice-blue-eyed beauty. People said we looked good together, that we were an according couple, and maybe we were. I don't know. I knew it wouldn't work, and so I broke up with her, and I know she'll move on and live happily ever after.

It was weird, in a sense, having Lily and James be such an official couple. It was odd. James still spilled butterbeer on his shirts, only this time, Lily knew the charms to bleach them. James's hair was still as messy as ever, but Lily could make it lie more flat with a spell.

Although this, of course, made for a much better groomed James, it wasn't the same James Potter I knew.

I dealt with it, as sixth year passed. I pretended not to notice when they whispered in each other's ears, those secret gazes they were always shooting at each other.

It was sweet, really. A storybook romance. They'd go off to Hogsmeade together, all alone, to one of those cafes, sometimes, or to Honeyduke's, or claim a table for two at the Three Broomsticks. He'd buy her what seemed like every candy in the shop. She'd, of course, protest, but James would always respond that it was his money and he would spend it on whatever he liked—and that happened to be his girlfriend.

I saw them walking down the street, once, Lily sucking on an oversize Sugar Quill that James had bought her. His arms were wrapped securely around her shoulders, like he'd never let go. James turned to her and said something; she laughed, the laugh I knew so well: she threw her head back, the gleaming red strands catching the sun, and laughed freely and fully.

I don't think I'd ever made her laugh like that.

I don't think I ever will.

As everybody says, they're meant to be. And they ARE. You can see it in their eyes, how they look at each other. It's not just some teen fling, although it'd be much easier on me if it was.

I wonder if they know how lucky they are.

* * *

At the end of sixth year, James's parents requested that Lily come over for a supper during the summer. He'd mentioned her in his letters home, and they were very much eager to meet this girl that James had said so much about.

As it was each year, James and I exited the summer train together—both receiving equal welcome from their parents. I swear, for a fairly small, thin woman, Mrs. Potter's certainly got an iron grip. (I thought she was going to crush my ribs, the hug that she gave me).

We spent those days almost normally—well, normally being the Time When There Was No Lily. Although that time seemed so far off, I could hardly remember it. We did no homework we'd been assigned (as always), played quidditch at every spare moment, slept (a lot), and ate Mrs. Potter's amazing cooking (also, a lot).

It was very nearly the same as every summer, except for Lily's picture on James's bedside. She was never very far from his thoughts, and I could always tell when he was thinking about her.

This was very often.

It's a rather cute picture, actually. I'm not one to coo at babies, or "awww" at kittens, or anything, but this was hilarious.

It was Christmastime, and Lily and James had vowed to make each other a sweater, as a symbol of undying devotion. Don't ask me why; they just did. Lily figured (she never was very homey with her charms) that if James took the time and effort to knit a sweater for her (even by magic), that he was pretty much devoted.

James spent all weeks leading up to Christmas in making the sweater. We had become accustomed to seeing the many bundles of yarn, of assorted colors, decorating his bed. He worked all hours for that sweater, barely doing much of anything other than it. I actually wish I had a picture of James working on the sweater—he would scrunch up his nose and concentrate and try to do it by magic. Of course, you really needed to focus to knit magically, and so focus James did. It wasn't simple, but James did, for Lily.

They decided to swap sweaters in the Hogsmeade Christmas visit.

The sweater that James knitted for Lily (ach, my mate's turning into an old lady) is green, a green that matches her emerald eyes, with a L stitched across the front in white. One sleeve is shorted than the other one, and the body is loose and the neck is rather tight. There are some loose stitches and knots, but the way Lily looked when she received it—it was like the messed-up sweater was a gold diamond necklace. She wore it like it was the fanciest gown in the world.

James's sweater was decidedly more normal, although still amusing. It was a deep, dark blue—they call it navy. Lily had made it a bit too tight, and the sleeves were too long, so James had to roll them up once or twice. She'd also knitted a design of a golden snitch on the very right top of the sweater, and enchanted it to move so it looked as if it was flying.

And there they are, in that picture. Strolling happily in Hogsmeade in their utterly ridiculous sweaters. Both are grinning happily, arms wrapped around each other.

I hope they know how ridiculous they look.

After all, I remind James—several times a day.

* * *

I remember the day Lily came over for dinner, to meet James's parents.

It was quite funny—James spent the better part of an hour fussing about how he looked—untucking his shirt, tucking it again, wonder if he should wear these shoes or those. I finally advised that he just LEAVE it be, otherwise he'd be fretting for hours.

The doorbell rang, and James ran to get it—it was the first time he'd ran to get a door since, well, since a while. But run he did—sliding down the long, polished oak banister and opening the door.

I watched from the top stair.

Lily's face was a bit flushed—it was a rather cold night, for summer. She wore something simple, but she, as always, still looked beautiful. She looked a bit shocked as James opened the door eagerly, but smiled when she saw him.

"Lily!" James cried, scooping her right off the floor.

She squealed happily (see—squealing? Lily had never squealed before she and James began going out) and wrapped her arms around him, while shrieking in protest as he tickled her. They were both so happy and there I was, the intruder, watching.

I watched them smile and tickle and hug and squeal (Lily's part, not James) for a while. James was just giving a very radiant Lily a kiss on the cheek (he was still holding her up) when Mrs. and Mr. Potter came into the room.

James sheepishly set her down.

"Lily! What a pleasure to meet you!" Mrs. Potter cried, giving her a warm hug. Lily looked grateful that James's parents hadn't massacred them because of their display of "public affection" with their son.

"You too!" Lily said, cheeks still flushed with color.

Mr. Potter came over too, shaking her hand, and Lily stayed composed and friendly all the while, and all through dinner.

We went in to eat dinner—which was Mrs. Potter's supreme cooking, as always. They sat next to each other, of course, holding hands when they thought nobody was looking. They each wore this secretive smile that I couldn't quite figure out, but maybe that's because I've never been in love like they have.

The dinner went on, and naturally, we all started discussing Lily and James's relationship. After the butternut squash soup had just been whisked away (Lily, laughing, wiped a bit of soup from James's upper lip), the topic came to when they'd gotten together.

"So," Mr. Potter began, looking at the two lovebirds from across the table, "when did you two get together?"

"The beginning of sixth year." James replied.

"So, how did you get introduced?" Mrs. Potter asked, her friendly face covered with a smile.

"Actually, Sirius kind of introduced us—didn't he?" he asked Lily, and she nodded.

"Oh, Sirius? Do tell!" Mrs. Potter said enthusiastically.

"Yes, it is I that is responsible for this budding love." I said jokingly, and a laugh passed through the room.

"So, how did you introduce them?" James's mom asked excitedly.

"Let James or Lily tell," I responded, "they probably remember it better than I do."

The Potters looked expectantly at James and Lily.

"Well, I was having trouble doing my charms homework…" James began. "and I asked Sirius to help me, but he was busy researching…what was it, again?" he asked.

"The Hair Color Changing Potion, for the Slytherins. Marvelous prank, really."

"Yeah…so he said he couldn't help me. But then…" James said, looking at Lily, as if cueing her to finish the story.

"…then," Lily replied, smiling, "I offered to help him with his homework, and that's when we really met…"

"And the rest, as they say, is history." I sighed dramatically, making everybody laugh again.

* * *

And finally, seventh year was here. Our last year at Hogwarts—it seemed impossible. Seven years ago, we, the Marauders, had formed together—joined with a pact to inflict many pranks upon this school as we possibly could.

We didn't let that pact down.

But things were different, now. We had less time to plan those pranks, with all this girlfriend business. Still, we managed; James became captain of the quidditch team, me being his co-captain.

Reading up to this, you might think that Lily and James—being the perfect couple they are, of course—went through their relationship without any squabbles, arguments or fights.

If you thought that, you would be completely WRONG.

Because they did occasionally fight—and when they did, it'd be best to run for cover, lest your eardrums burst. But they'd never actually break up—although, well, one time—it didn't really come CLOSE, but it was definitely their biggest argument ever—and I was smack in the middle of it.

It was the last quidditch game of the season, and me and James, as co-captain and captain, spent hours of practicing and making up diagrams and game plans. We trained till our muscles ached, and till we were extremely sweaty and our robes rumpled.

Lily refused to come in contact with James till he took a shower after these practices. And I don't blame the girl one bit.

Anyway, we had a very good record all season—winning all of our games except one, and that was when James had been in the hospital wing. If we won this game, we'd win the cup.

And boy, did we want that cup badly.

The morning of the pivotal game dawned, everybody on the Gryffindor quidditch team waking up especially early, as to squeeze in some extra practice time. We were playing Slytherin, the team that played dirtiest of all four houses. All of us Quidditch players ate breakfast (or tried to, anyway) before setting off to the Quidditch pitch.

We were just strolling out onto the pitch, and the game was about to begin in less than a minute. I instinctively spotted Lily, Remus, Annie, Cattie, Peter and his Hufflepuff girlfriend (I still don't remember her name) sitting in their usual row of the stands. Lily wore a red-and-gold-striped Gryffindor scarf that James had bought for her, and her cheeks were red with cold, as always.

She waved happily, and I didn't even bother waving back.

Because, of course, she was waving at James, not me. Her boyfriend, you know, in case you've forgotten.

James waved back, before shaking hands with the Slytherin captain—McNottfly.

And thus the game began.

As I sped up into the cold, crisp air, at least I felt a little better. Quidditch had an indescribable power to just take my mind of everything else but the game. I did a hell of a job whacking the bludgers away from my teammates; our chasers did their part too, and the score was 40-30, Gryffindor being in the lead.

I whacked bludgers continually, and just as a particularly vicious one was headed towards a member of our team—Julie Bell—James heroically went into a dive—thus catching the golden snitch.

The red-and-gold-clad stands erupted into loud, raucous cheers, and James was mobbed by all the Quidditch team.

God, we were all so happy. Everything was just so…great.

We, after accepting the cup, went up to the common room…flanked by cheering fans (okay, okay, flanked by cheering fellow Gryffindors…).

We organized a party in the common room—plenty of sweets, and most especially, alcohol. We had the usual, tame butterbeer, but also some of the rather more alcoholic drinks. Such as firewhiskey, for instance, and Mounson's champagne. We set about, everybody happily laughing and talking, full to the brim of happiness because of our victory.

Anyway, for some odd reason me and James decided to have six and a half shots of Mounson's. Don't ask me why, it seemed to make some kind of sense at the time. It's pretty strong stuff, but I've always been pretty good at holding my alcohol.

The party was still going full swing at 1 in the morning, everybody celebrating. Me and James sat together with a large group of people cheering as we downed our shots. We clinked glasses and simultaneously downed our fourth shot. I was feeling a bit light-headed, but nothing very unusual. It's normal to feel light-headed—in case you haven't experienced the feeling—after winning the Quidditch Cup.

We took a break to do some wild dancing and talking, the whole Gryffindor common room was littered with empty Butterbeer bottles, chocolate bar wrappers, streamers somebody had conjured up.

After about an hour of that, me, James, and consequentially, about a third of the room, turned back to the couch, intent on finishing those six-and-a-half shot glasses.

The crowd laughed and cheered as we downed our fifth, but then a considerable amount of people began going upstairs, and also to dance in the middle of the common room. Me and James both downed our fifth shot glass, and by now we were quite drunk.

I decided to take a break by dancing, and James stayed on the couch, still with a fair amount of people.

It was hot and rather crowded in the common room, what with all the dancing, talking, eating, drinking and whatnot. I wove my way to the dance floor, and was practically assaulted by some girls who wanted to dance with me. A beat thrummed through the room, and I more felt it vibrate through the floor than heard the actual song.

I made my way through the dancing masses, and finally found some familiar faces. Lily, Cattie, and one other girl I didn't know, were all dancing in a circle. Remus and Annie were dancing together a few feet away. Peter isn't much of a dancer—never has been—so he was nowhere to be found. Probably in the crowd that surrounded James.

They welcomed me into their little circle, and, for some reason, I was in the middle. I think Lily was drunk or something—somebody probably spiked the punch, because I'd certainly never seen her dance like _that_.

Two other guys, that were also on the Quidditch team, and I was pushed back into the circle. I actually think that Cattie and the other girl were probably drunk as well—heck, practically everybody at that party was probably some form of drunk.

Which may have been the explanation of what happened next.

A rather slower beat struck up; you know, one of those slow songs where the couples dance together, arms around each other. Cattie grabbed one of the boys, wrapped her arms around him, and began dancing. The other two paired up—

Lily turned to me, placed her hands on my shoulders (she had to reach quite high to do this), and whispered in a very un-Lily-like fashion, "Let's dance."

She said it almost mischievously. She looked different than usual, she was looser, somehow. I felt somehow like it wasn't right, but what could I do? It would be rude to simply break away during a slow dance. I cautiously placed my hands on her waist and we began to sway to the music.

Because of our rather close proximity, I smelled alcohol—Mounson's, probably—on Lily's breath. She was drunk, and so was I. Somebody had probably spiked the punch, because Lily isn't the kind of girl to just get drunk without reason.

We swayed back and forth to the slow beat—Lily getting closer, and closer all the while, till we were nearly nose to nose. Well, we would have been, if she'd been my height.

I could definitely smell the alcohol on her breath, and I didn't really think about the world that was going on outside of our dance. All I knew now was just that I was dancing with the beautiful girl that I'd had my eye on since third year.

I enjoyed that dance in the way I shouldn't have.

She was looking up at me, and I was looking down at her. I could feel her body heat and all I wanted to do was hold her tighter.

She looked straight up at me, and said, in a very drunken, slurred voice—again, so uncharacteristic of the normally prim Lily—"Siriussshhh, you havveee bluuee eyessshh."

This was so completely out of the blue, that I opened my mouth to say, "Wh—"

But I couldn't finish, because suddenly her soft lips were on mine, and I was hopelessly entwined in the soft, slow-moving, champagne kiss.

All I can say now is that—well, I was drunk. Which I obviously was. And so was Lily. But me kissing my best mate's girlfriend—that was just plain sick, and made me the worst mate ever.

She pressed her lips on mine, and my legs felt like they were turning to jelly. Lily's a damn good kisser. She lightly ran her tongue along my bottom lip, and I swear I felt like my limbs were all going to fall off, and she'd be snogging a limb-less weirdo. Her lips were petal-soft, and I pressed my lips a little harder against hers, dizzily—all I could think about was Lily's lips, and that I was kissing the girl I'd had my eye on since third year--

Of course, this was the moment that James chose to come and look for his friends.

I'd never felt like a worse mate.

He looked as if he couldn't register what he was seeing, at all. His eyes turned as wide as saucers.

And I felt worse than I ever had, and a knot grew and grew in the pit of my stomach. Me and Lily separated, both looking guiltily over at James.

He simply, dejectedly—with shoulders slumped, and eyes downcast—through the throbbing, happy party, with happy people following him, walked slowly back to the dormitory.

And when I came in—fifteen minutes later, having been detained by masses of annoyingly clingy girls—his hangings were drawn.

We never had our six-and-a-half shots.

* * *

A/N:….well. I haven't the faintest WHERE that sprung from. I…well, I just don't know. I started, I guess…just writing…and it developed into—into this. Um…yeah. It's obviously NOT the end—it's like a broken-up one-shot, really. I thought the full works would be too much to be crammed into one chapter. So**, it'll be two chapters…maybe three. **

And, just letting you know, it's definitely **NOT Lily/Sirius pairing**.

**Review? I appreciate them all, and they help me write tons quicker : - ) hint, hint**

Bye-bye!


	2. Dorcas

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related works belong to J.K. Rowling and all affiliated companies, not me.

* * *

There's an expression—I don't know if you've heard it—that Mrs. Potter used to say to me, on every first of September. It was, 'absence makes the heart grow fonder.'

And it was true, really—at least in the case of going to Hogwarts. I mean, if Mrs. Potter's famous bone-crushing hugs are any indication of how much she missed me.

I think they were—an indication of how much she missed me, anyway—but that's beside the point.

Well, in the case of this fight, the expression certainly didn't relate to me and James.

I don't remember any other time when he just…shut off. He went out of his way to avoid me. He left for breakfast before I woke up. I'll always remember seeing his neatly made bed empty.

The thing that scared me was that Prongs was NEVER neat. And when I say never, I mean NEVER. Our room could be compared to a pig sty that a tornado's hit. There were always empty butterbeer bottles, random candy wrappers, robes, underwear, my shampoo, whatever, sprawled out on the floor.

We'd gotten into the habit of being very good about not tripping over anything, actually. But that's not the point.

James now cleaned his portion of his room, folded his robes, ate breakfast early, and paid attention in class.

If he didn't still look the same, I probably wouldn't have recognized my best friend of nearly seven years. And although I hate to admit that anything scares me—well, that got about as close as anything ever has.

You have no idea how it is to pass your best friend in the hall and to see him look away from you and hurry on.

This went on for awhile—this sick pattern. James getting up early, studying himself to exhaustion, and coming back late.

I think James was slowly beginning to forgive Lily—as it turned out somebody had spiked her punch. But it was only just beginning, I often saw her pleading with him, or having soft, serious conversations in the remote corners of the common room.

I hadn't seen them kiss at all, which was normally something they did regularly. For some reason, this alone made me feel like the worst person on earth.

I mean, they'd been so in love…snogging every spare moment… in between classes, while doing homework, in the common room, basically wherever they could squeeze out a few seconds. I mean, I know we'd always advised them to get a room, but now I felt terrible for just…wrecking it all.

My heart felt as swelled and heavy and sad as a water balloon destined to land and burst on a Slytherin's head.

Yes, I know, my analogies are rather creative.

I figured he needed his time, and so I didn't apologize yet. I was afraid, afraid of what he'd say to me…afraid he'd say he didn't want me as a friend any more.

This person, who'd I'd spent so much time with for nearly seven years with, now, I felt like barely knew him. He hovered only around the edges of my life. I talked to Remus and Peter, and they talked to James too.

I felt like we were on separate sides of a battle, and that was a horrible feeling too. I mean, actually, that whole fight was a horrible feeling.

We wouldn't even talk at mealtimes—save statements like, "Pass the gravy?" or things like that. He, expressionless, would eat, usually going to the library to study afterwards.

I think he didn't know what to do with himself, really. So he studied himself to death. Everyone was so shocked—James Potter himself, Marauder and legendary trouble maker, doing his homework? Answering questions in class, staying out of trouble? Getting no detentions? Nobody understood it.

And nobody understood the sudden rift in our friendship.

* * *

Weeks passed. Lily and James were slowly regaining trust with each other, although not exactly back at where they were before this whole mess. I still hadn't seen them kiss in public, which made me, again, feel terrible.

Remus and I were sitting in our dormitory one night. He was diligently doing his homework, and I could hear the consistent scratching of a quill on parchment as I stared into space and fidgeted with the blankets on my (unmade, needless to say) bed.

I tapped my feet lightly and bounced unhappily on the bed, still fidgeting.

After a few moments, Remus put down his homework.

"Sirius." He began. I knew this couldn't be good, he sounded very serious and as if he was going to lecture me.

"Yeah?" I asked.

He sighed.

I waited.

"You've got to talk to him, you know that."

"But hoooowww?" I whined, bouncing a bit more on the bed.

"Tell him how you feel, Sirius. You two have been friends for too long to just give it up." He replied, sensibly as ever.

"What should I say?" I asked.

"An apology would be a nice start." Remus replied dryly.

"Well, obviously." I replied. "But what to say IN the apology? How to say it?"

"By him a bouquet of roses, Sirius." Remus said sarcastically. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the romantic gesture."

I did a very good imitation of his sigh. Remus chuckled slightly, which caused me to scowl, but I didn't say anything.

"Just apologize. You know, make it come from the heart and all? For the sake of all of us."

So, I listened to good old Moony's advice. I tried to practice what I'd say all day. I felt about as nervous as if I was about to propose to a girl. Frustrated, I threw out all my mental apology lines.

I went through the day as any other—seeing James be this other, different person. Not at all the James I knew. I watched in wonder as he took notes in History of Magic. NOBODY, I tell you, takes notes in History of Magic—except, perhaps, Lily. But NOBODY else—and here James was, taking notes?

I really couldn't believe it.

At night, I sat on my bed rather impatiently, waiting for James to arrive so I could attempt to apologize to him. It was eleven, then eleven thirty...Moony bid me good night, and Peter went to sleep a bit after. I stayed up, bouncing on my bed a little for good measure.

Time passed slowly…it was 12 at night, and I began running over all of the possible responses he could say to my apology in my head. Needless to say, not the most calming thing to think about, but my mind was so restless and racing.

It was 12:30, and James still hadn't come back from wherever he was. I was beginning to get a tad tired, but I was determined to stay up and apologize.

I took to staring at the white painted wall a few feet in front of me. Just as it was fuzzing off into blurry white dots, I heard the soft noise of the dormitory door opening.

I snapped out of my reverie, and watched as James staggered in.

He was carrying a large stack of books in his hands, obviously he'd been to the library. He stumbled a little under the weight, and his face looked—different. Almost haggard. He bore the same, uniform expression of those who stayed up all hours of the night, studying.

He placed the books beside his bed, and then he noticed me, sitting on my bed. He glanced at me, gave me a funny look for a second, then turned back to finding something to wear to bed.

I figured this was the right time to speak up, and so I cleared my voice. I think this shocked James. We hadn't spoken to each other—much less been in a one-on-one conversation—for at least three weeks, maybe more.

"James?" I said.

He stopped dead from where he was rummaging about for clothes. I think he was really shocked. Anyway, slowly, he turned around.

It was the same old James, and I nearly cried from relief that he hadn't—I don't know, put gel in his hair to smooth it down--to fit his new "model student" image.

"Yeah?" he said. It was the same old James voice, the same one I'd heard since I was eleven.

"I—I—I…I…" I started. He looked at me oddly, a t-shirt and pajama pants balled up in his hand.

I just couldn't seem to say it.

"Yeah?" he asked again, staring at me fixedly.

I'd never, ever stuttered in my best friend's presence before. We'd always been so…well, so open and everything, with each other. At least, I couldn't remember a time when we hadn't been.

"…nothing." I replied, looking into my previously best friend's face.

It was sad, to see that enclosed look in my best friend's face where you once saw everything—so many possibilities. He was shut off now.

"Okay." He said, looking at me oddly, still.

"Well, er, 'night." I said.

"…'night." He replied slowly, still looking at me in a way that made me feel as if I was being observed under the eye of a microscope.

And I stayed up later as he climbed into bed, wondering, wondering what I could do, and how everything had gone so hopelessly wrong that I couldn't even look my best friend in the eye any more.

Things happened, time passed, people loved and lost.

And I'd lost something most precious of all—a friendship.

* * *

One day I went to talk to Lily. Strange, we hadn't really talked after the "incident" either.

It was after class, and we went out into the hall, busy students rushing past us. I wondered what they were on their way to. I wondered if they had gotten their hearts broken or lost their best friends.

I was broken from my wonderings by a small cough from Lily.

She stood about a foot or so from me, as if she was too afraid to get overly close. I sighed and ran my hands through my hair (a familiar habit), and wondered where—and how—to begin.

She crossed her arms across her chest, and I felt like I was being warded off—like I was a vampire, or something.

Next thing I knew, she'd probably be hanging strings of dried garlic from her robes. Anyway, moving on.

"…erm…" I began brilliantly. She looked just as at lost as to where to start.

"…yeah…" she added.

"…so…erm…" I said, feeling as stupid as I probably ever had.

"…I…"

"Wow, this is awkward." I said, running my hands through my hair again. Lily laughed slightly, which reassured me a bit. I mean, maybe she didn't think I was THAT much of a vampire.

Which is a plus, I guess.

Anyway.

"So…about…erm, Lily. Please tell me your drink was spiked?" I asked almost pleadingly.

She laughed again, and I saw those dainty freckles and those brilliant green eyes that I knew so well.

"Yeah, it was." She said. "I peg it up to Simon." She said, naming a very trouble-making sort of boy in our year (although nobody, and I mean nobody, can beat the Marauders in the complicated trouble-making field.).

"Yeah, probably was him." I said, chuckling a little.

"So..." she said.

"So…all's good?" I asked unsurely.

"Yeah." Lily said. "I'm, er, really sorry." She said, looking down, as if the floor had suddenly become really interesting.

"No problem, I know no woman can resist me." I said loftily, joking.

She laughed again, and it suddenly felt like old times, just me and her and no complicated fights or shots or kisses or cheating or anything.

"So…how've you been?" she asked.

"Ah, could be better, could be worse." I replied.

"Oh...you're still not talking to him, are you?" she asked.

No need to ask who 'him' was.

"I tried to apologize…but I don't know, I couldn't do it." I said.

"Give it time. You guys have been best friends forever practically." She said , echoing Remus's statement.

"I suppose." I replied. We fell into step as we walked to charms, our next shared class.

"So how's quidditch season going?" she asked.

And as we fell into easy, friendly chatter, it really did feel like third year again.

* * *

It was, I think, the worst chapter so far in the book of me and James's friendship. We no longer talked, and his excessive studying became part of my daily regimen.

I would always try to muster up the courage to apologize, but it was difficult. It was odd, unsettling to see the strangeness, the unfamiliarity in his eyes.

It was as if a different person was sleeping in the bed next to me, an imposter. Somebody who hadn't been there before.

I was just losing hope—when I hatched my brilliant plan.

* * *

I can't say I've ever been much of a crafts-project kind of person, and I don't think that I ever will be.

That I made that present for James was full proof of how much I needed my best friend back.

I worked on it for hours, before James came back from the library each night. I kept my hangings closed and worked with various materials.

_He'd better appreciate all this, I'm even waking up early on weekends for this_, I thought dryly as I worked on it.

I spent a large slice of my spare time on that project. Every night, I would work on it for a few hours at a time, diligently.

I don't think I'd done anything so diligently up till then, except maybe play quidditch.

I met a girl in my year around then, in Gryffindor—Dorcas Meadowes—for the first time, one day. She was very pretty—big blue eyes, absolutely teeny (4"11!) with a very slim frame, and a cheerful nature. She had brown hair that lay silky down her back too, but what amazed me about her were her eyes. They were the bluest things I'd ever seen, and I felt oddly as if I'd been struck by lightning when I looked at them. (Not in a bad way). I could have literally stared at them for ages if I'd wanted to.

However, I'd probably appear as an obsessive stalker if I did that, so I refrained.

We talked often about nearly everything. We looked hilarious walking along together—her, miniature and small at 4"11—me, nearly six feet and with a Quidditch beater's muscular body.

I felt like I could say practically anything to that girl. We'd talk for hours about anything and everything.

"Sirius, do you think I'm pretty?" she asked one sunny day, as we were walking around the lake.

I was a bit shell-shocked, after all, this wasn't the sort of stuff we normally discussed.

"Of course!" I responded as we made a slow circle around the large lake.

"What's your favorite feature of mine?" she asked.

This was another weird question coming from her, but I tried to, you know, roll with the punches or however that expression goes.

"You mean physical or non physical?" I asked.

"Physical." She said, eyes dancing.

"Your eyes." I said truthfully, glad that I could at least partially attest to my obsession over her eyes.

"Oh yes?" she asked, playfully linking her arm through mine.

"Yes." I replied.

"Not my feet?"

I smiled at that one. We had a running joke about the size of her feet, which were quite teeny. She'd tried on my shoes once, and her feet literally swam in them. She looked quite comical in them; when she attempted to take a step, the shoe fell off and she tripped.

I then tried her shoes on and discovered I could fit about half of my toe in.

"No, although I like those too." I said., referring to her feet. "But why do you ask all this?"

"No reason." She said as we walked.

"So, Dorcas, do you think I'm pretty?" I asked in an airy, girly voice, fluttering my eyelashes girlishly. She laughed appreciatively.

"Pretty's not the word. But, sure, if you want to explore your feminine side, be my guest." She said.

"Just call me Siriusina." I said, taking on the girly, breathy tone. "Now, what is your favorite feature of mine?" I continued in the girly voice.

"Hmmm…" she said, eyes twinkling.

She turned so she was stopped in front of me, and she had to look up to see my face. She studied it for a moment. I was acutely aware of how close she was to me, how small and dainty and pretty and how her eyes got bigger and bluer when she came close up…

She pecked me softly but quickly on my mouth, and ran away to her homework. "Those. Toodles!" she cried over her shoulder, cheerfully.

I don't think I'd ever stayed in one place, totally confused and in dream-land, massaging my lips for such a long time.

Finally, I realized that she liked my lips best.

It took me a while.

Merlin's beard, I don't know what went on in that head of Dorcas's.

* * *

I'd finished it—the project for James—after two strenuous, working-on-it-all-day weeks.

It was done, completely, and I stood back and admired my handiwork.

It was perfect.

Embossed on the red leather cover (I'd purchased it at a small crafts store in Hogsmeade) was Prongs's Album, in gold curly lettered script. When you pressed it, the words slowly came together and morphed into a small picture of a golden stag, mid-gallop.

That charm had taken me practically an hour to figure out.

(On the bottom right corner of the album was written: Made by Padfoot in the same curlicue gold script letters).

Anyway, once you pressed the miniature golden stag, the thing sprung open.

To reveal…

Pictures.

Tons of them.

The first picture, carefully secured in its little golden frame, was of James and I, our first meeting, on the train. James's mom had wanted James to take a picture on his first day on the Hogwarts express.

We both have bunny ears up behind each other's heads, and James is waggling his behind my head. James is still missing a tooth—his hair is really messy too, and it spikes around his head.

I'm smiling just as toothily—except, well, with more teeth. My teeth had already all come in by that point. You can see, in the picture, the compartment's window. You notice landscape flashing past, and periodically the train jolts, and you can see us falling over and laughing our heads off.

We promised, on that train ride, to be known as the greatest pranksters the school has ever seen.

Remus had a hobby of taking pictures back when we were younger, so there's a lot of pictures from that time period.

I flipped through the pages, glancing and smiling at each picture in turn.

There's one of James and I, in our first quidditch game—Moony had captured the sky quite well, and you can see James zooming about in the stormy sky, looking for a glint of the snitch. I'm currently whacking a black bludgers towards a random slimy Slytherin, and the game's in full speed.

Another one—a few months before Lily and James got together.

It was a snow fight—for some reason, we'd all stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas.

You can see James chasing Lily with a snowball in his hand. She lookslike a puffball in her heavy winter coat, topped with carrot-colored hair. She shrieks happily and smiles, her cheeks pink with cold.

James stuffs a snowball down her back, onto her skin, and she shrieks and half-angrily, half-flirtingly, stuffs a snowball down his shirt as well.

Finally, James wrestles her to the ground where they roll about, trying to stuff snow at each other, for a while.

They both look exceedingly happy at this turn of events.

There are small snowflakes fluttering daintily down—in the background, if you squint a bit, you can see me, building up a snow fort for the Marauders.

Ah, I remember that. With my and Moony's combined efforts, we achieved a merry, crackling fire in a grate (for roasting marshmallows, obviously), several luxurious reclining armchairs, and a nifty stash of chocolate and butterbeer.

I smile, remembering, and turn the page.

I've got the funny sweater picture, too. Mrs. Potter made a copy of it—upon my request—and sent it to me.

There's a picture of—well, it's quite funny, albeit a bit embarrassing—of when James, Remus, Peter and I were playing truth or dare in the fifth year.

(They'd dared me to put a pair of pink underwear—with unicorn embellishments on it, no less—James had conjured it for me—and walk down to the common room, and snog the first girl I saw).

Remus accompanied me to make sure I completed the dare, and, funnily enough, the first girl I laid eyes on was a third year, Sally Hingens. She's not bad looking—pretty, in fact, with curly blonde hair and brown eyes.

Anyway, Remus brought along his CAMERA. I sort of pulled my arms around Sally, snogged her for a few second, let go.

She looked at my hair rather oddly, but otherwise looked as if she were fit to swoon. She smiled at me widely, and ran off, giggling, to her friends.

Anyway, Remus snapped a photo. So here we have it, me and Sally Hingens snogging. She has the expression of utmost surprise on her face—her mouth is open in shock—and I am snogging her whilst having pink unicorn underwear on my head.

I shake my head, chuckle slightly, and move on.

I flipped to the next page. It's Lily's birthday—she's blowing out a candle in near darkness, the flame flickering and flashing in the picture. You can only see a dim view of her face in the almost-total darkness.

James is about to kiss her on the cheek, but he's not made it quite there yet, which gives him the expression of a fish.

I turned to the last page, the last picture.

It's all of us, all who matter anyway. Peter sits on the floor, up against the couch, smiling. Remus and Annie are snuggled up together on the large couch, looking happy and grinning.

Dorcas and I were fooling about, and so, for fun, I'm lifting her up like a weight lifter. As part of the joke, my face is wrinkled in concentration, and I look hilarious. I'm gripping Dorcas's back and ankles, and she's laughing and shrieking happily to be put down, her blue eyes twinkling like always.

James and Lily sit next to us, the perfect picture of the perfect couple, arms around each other smilingly.

There are also—this is what took the longest—pensieves. Under certain pictures, there's a golden sheet of metal with a label of what pensieve it is, written in red curling letters.

(For example: _snowball fight_, as one is labeled.)

If you open it up, there's a small amount of silvery pensieve. It took forever to get the correct pensieves, and to put them in the little containers.

Anyway, you can experience a particular picture or memory. It took me four hours to figure out how to do the first one.

Four bleeding hours!

All I could think about when the whole thing was completed, was: _I SO had better get an apology for this. _

But I was desperately afraid that I wouldn't.

* * *

A/N: So…yeah.

There will be one…maybe two…more chapters to this story. IT'S NOT OVER YET.

I had fun writing Dorcas. Um, I really hope you liked it. **I shall write more, but how fast I do depends how much you REVIEW! HINT, WINK! **

(As you may be able to tell, I am about the most unsubtle person ever to walk the universe).

Okay, maybe not that extreme, but whatever.

Thanks to all my amazing reviewers!

JadeGreen14, mrsbillehboyd, crazy turtle, ms dumplings, Rebel Rose, Sunny, taniita, watervolleyhp


	3. Purple Hydrangeas

Disclaimer: Nothing affiliated with Harry Potter and co. belongs to me.

* * *

Ever since Dorcas had given me that short peck on the lips, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Seriously. It was like some unfair disease. My mind never really lingered on girls. This might seem kind of like an odd statement, as all of Hogwarts knew me well in the rule-breaking (and I suppose heart-breaking) dated-most-girls sense.

But it was true—outside of a few dates, snogs, breakups, I never really thought about them.

As I'm writing this I notice how superficial it sounds. And maybe it is.

The only two of the female sex that ever made me think were Lily and Dorcas. And I mean, really ponder over. I don't think there's a man on this earth who will ever truly understand a girl's mind. It's just much too complicated for the likes of us men—even though I AM undeniably brilliant.

There are some mysteries (like their minds) that are better left unsolved.

It sounds cheesy, but Dorcas was always in my thoughts. I couldn't get her face out of my head.

And it was driving me absolutely crazy.

* * *

I was awake, late one night—one in the morning, maybe. I looked over at the beds and saw all of my dorm mates sleeping soundly, a sliver of moonlight reflecting on Peter's hair as he slept innocently. I couldn't sleep. The issue with James had been keeping me up.

I hadn't done much—if any—sneaking about at night. After all, Prongs's invisibility cloak was always a large part of our much-practiced technique. Our technique of not ever being caught, I mean.

I looked listlessly my friends (if James could be considered my friend; I had yet to apologize to him and present my gift), peacefully sleeping.

Remus's light brown bangs were flopping over his pale forehead, illuminated by the slight moonlight. I briefly allowed a feeling of sadness for my friend's plight wash over me, then broke my musings.

I crept out of the dorm room, ghostly shafts of moonlight illuminating the way. I was wearing what I'd gone to bed with—a pair of sweatpants. It was warm weather, and so I didn't bother with a shirt.

Besides, my astonishingly well-defined quidditch muscles were visible. But that's besides the point.

I slowly crept down to the Gryffindor common room. The fire burned low in its grate, only a few flickering flames half-illuminated the gold-and-red chairs. It was as if the room was encased in shadows. A tired fifth year had his head flopped down in the middle of a large potions book, and was snoring soundly.

This picture, sadly, reminded me of something that the new, reformed, amazingly efficient student James would do. I stared at the fifth year for a few minutes, his snores the only sounds in the otherwise empty room, and then I crept on.

I exited the common room, the Fat Lady asleep in a pink silk ball gown, also snoring in quite an un-girlish like manner.

Making my way through Hogwarts's twisted and pitch-black hallways was a task easier said than done. I knew the school as well as Filch, who has been here for G-d-knows-how-long, but it's all different without any forms of light. We were accustomed to having the useful tool of the invisibility cloak, ensuring much more safety. I slowly made my way through the halls.

Every swish of the wind sounded like the Bloody Baron coming to get me, and once or twice I thought I heard soft stepping sounds. Once I heard the loud footsteps of a teacher, but fortunately I ducked into an empty classroom, heart beating loudly and cannon-like. I waited till the footsteps were all gone, and then continued on my way.

Every second seems like an hour when you try to find the correct door to pass through. Every muted creak you make is a thundering crash, sure to attract hordes of teachers madly waving detention slips in their hands.

Thankfully, soon (although my journey seemed to have taken hours upon hours) I reached the Astronomy Tower. A cool breath of fresh air wafted over me, and the stars winked at me like miniature diamonds. I savored the feeling of a breeze through my hair, the feeling of freedom.

The tower is walled—the hard, circular wall is made of old, gray stone. It extends quite a bit up, the tower—it's the tallest tower in all of Hogwarts. I idly looked down at the grass, wondering.

_That's where, not so long ago, maybe a month ago even, we, the Marauders, ran around in our Animagi forms like we had no fear in the world. Reckless, free-spirited, and so young. Seventeen, and acting like the eleven-year old children that had entered this school . _

I smiled sadly, a wave of sadness crashing over me, and I was helpless. I stretched my arms up to the sky, propping my arms up over the stone wall and gazing at the Whomping Willow. We'd spent so much time in that tree, hatching plans and making pranks and laughing and just—well, just being us, I guess. We were always _us_ at that time, and it seemed like that was how it would always be. It was as if we couldn't be unstuck from one another.

_Now I know better, _I thought, pressing my elbows into the cold stone till it hurt. I lifted my feet clean off the dusty, gray stone floor of the tower, so I was held up by only my elbows on the thick surrounding wall. Pain, pressed from the small dents and rough texture on the stone, felt good to me, somehow.

My elbows hurt even more, and I knew I'd have two twin bruises the next day. I pressed my elbows harder onto the wall, furiously taking the anger out of myself, I let out a frustrated noise, grinding my elbows still harder into the wall, supporting all of my weight with them till I thought the bones would break because of the stinging, hurting strain—

A small, quiet sniffle echoed through the wide tower's turret.

I dropped from my elbows onto the tower's stone floor in shock. My heart, for the second time that night, felt like it was about to beat its way out of my chest. I tried to keep calm, and was acutely aware of my foolish, angry behavior. My heart was pounding loudly; I was sure that even a deaf person in the far recesses of an Egyptian desert could hear it loud and clear.

Ignoring the blunt shots of pain stabbing relentlessly through my elbows, I slowly wheeled around in the near-darkness. The moonlight shone a little on the tower, creeping its way across the dirty, stone floor, with its wide gray slabs of stone, worn smooth from time.

My eyes quickly scanned the tower. Was it a teacher? Was it a ghost? Did ghosts cry? I hadn't ever seen one do so, but one never knew. Was it a mirage? Was it something designed by the teachers to scare off snogging couples from this popular snogging spot?

I took out my want (which I'd thrust into the waistband of my sweatpants, just to be safe) and whispered, "_Lumos_."

A thin, narrow beam of yellow light shot out of it, stretching over the floor. My heart beat on, still gong-like.

I slowly pointed it around the circumference of the tower. Wall, plain stone gray wall, wall, wall, wall, wall, wall, wall, person, wall, wall…

Wait. A person?

My heart skidded to a breathless stop when I saw who it was.

Because I was pretty sure it wasn't a mirage or anything.

Dorcas was sitting, slumped against the wall, in a white bathrobe. Her hair was half-wet, and a comb lay forgotten, halfway-dragged through her drying hair.

And she was crying furiously.

Her face was wet with tears, and her eyes had lost their ever-present twinkle. The tears rolled silently down her cheeks, a river of tears. Her nose was running furiously, and presently she wiped it on the sleeve of her bathrobe.

I stood for a moment, just staring at her, with my wand pointed at her. She continued sobbing, although it was audible now, as opposed to her silent tears earlier.

We both appeared to be deer caught in the headlights of an—autowobile, I think that's the contraption we're learning about in Muggle Studies.

But anyway.

I stood stock-still for another moment, looking at Dorcas. She was always so cheerful; I'd never seen her cry before, ever. My heart pounded loudly in worry.

I slowly approached her carefully, still in shock at her unrelenting tears and depressed appearance. It was just so difficult to fathom a girl like Dorcas so all-out upset.

In coming closer to her, I saw the tears had nearly made pools on her bathrobe. Seeing her face close up made me start with worry. Her eyes were large, sad pools of blue, not the usual happy cerulean color I was used to. The bathrobe was much too big for her, and hung in a most depressing way around her slim frame.

I saw that she didn't protest when I moved cautiously closer to her, maybe just cried harder. Still worried for the life of me, I sat down next to her gently. She looked even more terribly upset up close.

"What's wrong?" I asked. This seemed to make her cry even harder. The whites of her eyes had taken on a reddish color, and her face seemed somehow swollen from crying so much.

She handed me a tear-stained letter, so smeared that in parts, in had to peer at it carefully to read the words. It was parchment. By my wandlight, and while hearing Dorcas's unbridled sobbing, I quickly and hurriedly read the letter:

_April 4_

_10:47 p.m._

_Miss Dorcas Meadowes:_

_We regret to inform you that your mother (Alexandra Meadows) died at 10:41 this evening, at Hampshire Road, murdered by a band of Death Eaters. We are deeply sorry of this most saddening event. The Ministry of Magic is attempting to catch these dangerous men and women. _

_Your father (John Meadowes) suffered major jinxes and curses, all while attempting to protect your mother (Alexandra Meadowes). He is currently being moved into St. Mungo's, but we assure you that he will recover, perhaps in a week or two. _

_Your sister (Juliana Meadowes) is unharmed, and is currently taken care of by your aunt (Violet Curie). _

_If you are granted permission by the headmaster (Albus Dumbledore) you are permitted to attend your mother (Alexandra Meadowes)'s funeral on Sunday, April 18th. (The funeral has been postponed because of your father John Meadows's need of recovery). _

_Again, we are deeply sorry of these disheartening occurrences. _

_Sincerely, _

_Anne B. Wellshire _

(Anne B. Wellshire)

_Official Correspondence Office of the Ministry of Magic _

I finished the letter numbly, and a deep feeling (similar to that of a hundred pound dumbbell) settled in my stomach.

Feeling worse for somebody that I ever had, I turned to Dorcas, who was still sobbing even more heavily than before.

It was as if her very soul was cut open, and all her sadness had floated to the top, in unimaginable pain and suffering. I felt so terribly for her, I felt like crying out.

I'd never really seen Dorcas as a delicate china doll. She was always so strong and happy, even though her frame was so small.

Now though, she seemed delicate and vulnerable and astonishingly breakable. I feared that if I so much as tapped her, she'd shatter into a thousand of pieces.

I carefully placed my arm on her bare shoulder (the bathrobe was so big it had fallen off one shoulder). She didn't seem to mind the contact, even though I couldn't see a strap to tell if she was wearing a bra or not.

Her head slumped onto my shoulder, still crying. I couldn't find the words to say how deeply, powerfully sorry I was on her behalf.

Instead I put my hand under the crook of knee and her back, and in doing so, settled her small frame into my lap. She didn't protest, rather felt like a limp rag doll, a small child who had lost their shiny red balloon into the blue consuming sky.

But Dorcas had lost something much, much, much, much worse.

I felt her small, warm weight settle on me, and she continued to cry unbridled. The tears spilled like small streams all over my chest and shoulders. I tightened my arm around her waist, as small and delicate as a doll. She responded by pulling herself closer to me, clinging to me as if I was the only one in this world that was solid and whole.

And in that manner, her sobbing and crying furiously, her tears spilling over onto me, and me holding her on my lap, softly stroking her hair and holding her waist, we spent hours and hours. We didn't talk at all. Eventually she and I fell asleep as the dawn's early rays of light shone and reflecting off her rivers of tears, the rawness of pain out in the open.

And when Albus Dumbledore softly padded up to the Astronomy Tower, in slippers and a bathrobe, and read the crumpled letter, cast aside in the dawn's light, and saw the two seventh years asleep atop one another, he did not give a single detention.

Instead, he smiled sadly, so sadly, and a tear of his quickly fell to the stone floor, and was gone with a swish of purple robe and slippers.

* * *

Memory is a strange thing, and I think it, at times, tells you what you need to know at the time. It can be compassionate or cruel or it can just blank out completely, like a long, black hallway.

Memory does tell lies, and maybe my memory of that stretch of time with Dorcas might be falsely represented in my mind. Maybe it is. Maybe it's not.

But I guess my stiffness and soreness of holding her in the same comforting position for so long proved that we were really friends. She thanked me and apologized all at the same time, but I said it was nothing. It's what friends should do.

Dorcas asked me and Lily to come to the funeral. We were the two closest to her. Of course we accepted, and of course Dumbledore allowed us to go.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we had a different headmaster, back then. I wonder if Hogwarts would have been even half as enjoyable without him.

* * *

I was still unsure about when the proper time was to give James his gift. I know I was extremely glad to be done with the whole artsy project (admittedly, I'm not one for the arts), but the Dorcas thing had just kind of blown us all away.

Made us realize what kind of world was going around behind the safe walls of Hogwarts. Made us realize that there were much bigger pressures than N.E.W.T.S and friendship fights and alcohol and sneaking out.

We were just kids, really, but now we knew what lay on the other side of our sheltered world.

Classes continued to be as dull as ever. Lily and James became closer; nearly as close as they'd been before the fight. It made me glad, even amidst all the horrible things that were going on, to know that they were okay again.

Somehow, people like Lily found the time to study through all of this, and still carry on a relationship (with James), be supportive and kind to Dorcas, and a friend to all.

She could snap at you pretty fiercely if you bothered her during her work, though.

Still, pretty amazing. I probably couldn't have done it.

Random, little things set Dorcas off. It could be a word, a phrase—we all intuitively knew not to mention these things. Dorcas was later informed (by another owled letter from the Ministry) that her mother had been murdered by Avada Kedavra.

Lily told us all (well, she told me, James, Peter and Remus—Annie and Cat already knew) of this little tidbit of information, so we wouldn't mention it in conversations.

One day, a week later, at precisely 9:15, we were sitting tiredly in Transfiguration class. We were being lectured on the proper method of transfiguring a calf into a deer.

"Now, the proper incantation for changing a calf into a deer is _Bovis Cervus." _McGonagall explained crisply. "You must slightly twist your wrist to the right as you perform this spell. Catherine Jenkins, please hand out these calves to each student."

Cat rolled her eyes. She absolutely despised being called by her birth name. She untied a calf's rope from the communal ring, one at a time, and led it to a student down the rows.

When Cat was done leading the calves to the students, a brown-and-white-spotted calf remained in the ring. McGonagall rolled up the sleeves of her cloak and took her wand out.

"Now," she said, focusing her stare upon the calf, "you must say this particular incantation with force, but not so much that the spell goes awry. I shall demonstrate. Watch." She commanded.

"_Bovis Cervus_!" McGonagall said clearly, flicking her wand a bit. There was a loud snap and a deer reappeared in its place.

Everyone murmured in admiration. Lily looked particularly eager to try such a complicated spell. She was practically itching to try it, I could tell.

"I will be walking down the rows, measuring your progress and assisting those who need assistance." She said, and everyone began trying out the spell.

I was seated in the desk next to James. He appeared as businesslike as ever; clothes neatly pressed, paying rapt attention to McGonagall, although thankfully his hair was as haphazardly combed and generally messy as it ever had been.

I briefly glanced at him before attempting the incantation.

"_Bovis Cervus!"_ James and I cried at the exact same time.

What happened next was little short of magical. It may even be on the prestigious "Top Ten Weirdest Moments of Sirius Black's Life" list. That's how weird it was.

As we both said the incantation simultaneously, our two calves snapped into the air and crashed into each other in mid-air. They made an even louder cracking noise when they collided, and formed a large, pink glittery cloud.

Mine and James's eyes briefly met, both totally confused and incredulous at this turn of events.

I think it was the first time we'd really looked at each other without thinking of the fight, since the actual fight had occurred.

We watched the large pink cloud rise up and up to the high stone ceiling of the Transfiguration classroom. It glittered and was garishly pink, and the sparkles sort of winked and shone at us as they ascended.

Nobody had any idea what in the world was going on.

Our eyes were transfixed to this strange, strange cloud. Our pupils rose along with the progress of the bright pink cloud, which was sparkling ominously.

Many students had joined us in watching the cloud's journey towards the ceiling. I could have bet Lily was sitting there with her perfectly transfigured deer, sighing loudly about our ridiculous antics.

The cloud was rising higher and higher—it seemed to be growing steadily, and now was as big as a good-sized, bright pink, sparkly chandelier-cloud—

It emitted a loud _POP!_ that resonated throughout the stone classroom. Much to the surprise of James and me, about six baby deer dropped down from the ceiling. The cloud dispersed, and the pink glitter rained down on the class like dislodged dust.

There was a general uproar amongst the students—glitter had gotten into people's eyes, their calves had started from this odd event—

Me and James's eyes met once again, and the expression of utter shock surged between us. I fought the urge to laugh, because the pink glitter in James's hair made the messy strands look all the more hilarious.

I'm sure I looked hilarious myself.

Ah, now, if only we had a picture in the photo album for THAT.

Anyway.

When the pink glitter had settled (contrasting most oddly with the cold stone floor and the wooden desks), we found McGonagall standing sternly at the front of the classroom.

"Potter, Black—what is the meaning of this?" she demanded sternly.

James and I glanced at each other, and I could swear he was smiling, just as I was. Ah, it was so reminiscent of the old days—James, Remus, Peter and I usually got in trouble in Transfiguration every other day or so. It practically a ritual, back then. A way of life, one could say.

"Sorry, Professor." We chorused angelically, as we always had.

"Well, stop acting like fools and making nonsensical pranks, then!" she demanded, then turned to help Cat with her deer (which, for some reason, had large green horns shooting out of its head, as apposed to antlers), not before vanishing the pink glitter with a sharp swish of her wand (_Niteo Dispero_!)

James and I shared another look, and we both grinned.

I had gotten in trouble for a prank I hadn't even planned--and I was happier about it than I'd ever remembered being.

Ah, the crazy things we do in life.

* * *

Dorcas left a few days early for the funeral. After all, she needed to visit her father—who still remained in St. Mungo's, but would be let out soon. She left on the train with a small suitcase of clothes.

She missed two days of school. I think it was the first time that McGonagall didn't nag a student about missed work and what work they were required to make up once they returned.

Lily and I traveled to Dorcas's house by train. I brought my regular black robes, as did Lily.

Lily lectured me on funerary etiquette on the way over, as we drank butterbeer and ate chocolate frogs (I always brought a stash of the two wherever I went—they're necessities, food staples).

"Now, if Dorcas doesn't want to sit with you—or us—you mustn't insist on sitting with her, that's rude. It's a funeral; she'll probably choose to sit with her family." Lily lectured, taking a dainty sip from the bottle of butterbeer I'd given her.

I nodded, swallowing a chocolate frog whole. Lily looked positively repulsed by this, but didn't comment. She continued.

"And if any weird old relatives come up to you, you must be polite and charming and not trick them into thinking you were a model on the quidditch training-thing magazine last year for bolger-beating gear."

That one had been quite good; James's mother's half-sister-twice-removed or something (at their annual Christmas ball) had actually believed me.

"Thanks, Lily!" I replied. "Even though they're bludgers, not bolgers. That's a rather good idea; I haven't used that one in a while! Except, you know, I was featured in the June issue of last year, you forgot." I replied, knowing it would get on Lily's nerves.

She splashed some butterbeer on me in retaliation to my remarks.

And gosh, that girl does aim well.

* * *

I don't remember much of the funeral.

There were big purple flowers everywhere. They smelled nice, maybe a little too strong because there were so many of them. Dorcas informed me that they had been her mother's favorite flowers.

It was a small graveyard ceremony.

I wore my black dress robes, as did Lily. So did Dorcas. She wore a small purple flower in the pocket of her robes. She said her mother would have liked that.

Lily was partially right about the funerary etiquette. She did hold her Dad's hand on one side.

But she held mine on the other side.

"My mother—was an extraordinary woman." Said Dorcas. She had gone up at the podium and was speaking.

Her little frame looked much too small and fragile to stand up and talk in front of the masses of black-cloaked people. Her blue eyes stood out from her face though, and you could tell, if you looked at them, that she wasn't so small as she seemed.

At least not in the metaphorical sense, anyway.

"She loved making things grow. She had her own garden—full of the wildest flowers and plants imaginable. Every day, she'd go outside and tend to her plants, and would come back, with dirt under her fingernails and the happiest smile on her face."

Here most of the relatives smiled briefly. This was obviously a well-known characteristic.

"She liked giving life to things, to see small seeds grow into beautiful flowers. She loved life. My mother was passionate about everything around her."

Everyone was silent, absolutely silent, watching Dorcas deliver her speech.

"I think that should be a lesson to us all. Even though her life was cut short, she lived life to the fullest. And I bet that she's looking down to us, right now, silently reminding us to water the hydrangeas."

Everyone laughed.

So that's what those big purple flowers were.

"But what's more, we will be just as happy as her if we treat each day if it's our last. That's the way she lived life, and that's the way everybody should." Dorcas paused.

"Thank you." She finished.

Everybody clapped loudly, and Dorcas returned to her place between her father and I.

There were a couple more speeches, then the service was over.

The "meeting Dorcas's family" time commenced.

"Look, Sirius." She said urgently as we walked through the rows of chairs, trying to get to the refreshment table. "You mustn't judge my family too harshly—they're a bit--"

Just then, a rather large woman engulfed a rather surprised Dorcas into a hug. The woman was so huge, I'm surprised Dorcas lived through the encounter.

"Oh, hellooooo, Dorcas!" she cried. She wore the lipstick rather the color of the abundant hydrangeas (outside the lines), and a much too tight robes.

"Fhhggello, Ffwwaannt Myuldrffd" Dorcas attempted to say, as she was squashed firmly into the woman's stomach.

"And who is this young man?" Aunt Mildred asked, setting her eyes on me. I smiled charmingly.

"My friend Sirius. And this is my friend Lily." Dorcas explained, but Aunt Mildred took absolutely no notice of Lily.

"Oooh, he's a looker for sure, Dorcas! When did'ja snag him?"

I swear, she talked exactly like this. I didn't really know how to react to being branded a "looker".

"Aunt Mildred, we're—"

"Nonesense, nonsense! Let this Sirius boy talk for himself!"

I looked at Dorcas, then at Lily, who cast me a stern look.

"Hello, miss!" I said cheerfully, extending my hand. "And how do you do today?" I said, in my most charmingly win-the-adults-over sort of voice.

"Very fine, very fine indeed, thank you!" she replied, grinning madly. "Now, when did you say you and Dorcas got together?"

"Well, now that you mention it—two months ago." I replied.

"Yes, March 12th. I remember it well." Dorcas said, pretending to swoon.

I grinned, glad Dorcas was joining in the game.

"Well how did it happen?" Aunt Mildred asked excitedly. She clearly lived for this sort of stuff.

"Well," I began confidentially, "I noticed on February 14th how—perfectly lovely—Dorcas looked with a rose in her hair." I began, making it up as I went along.

Aunt Mildred nodded eagerly.

Lily looked stern.

I took no notice.

"I decided then and there—because of her beautiful appearance, sparkling personality, and unmatchable wit—that Dorcas was the only one for me. I could never love another."

Dorcas nodded like this was a familiar story to her, and I could see that she was trying to conceal giggles.

"Sirius bought me a bouquet of roses to match the ones in my hair." Dorcas continued. "With a, er, note written in script beside the roses."

"What did the note say?" Aunt Mildred asked excitedly.

"It said—it said—" Dorcas was about to collapse into giggles. I cut in.

"It said: Be my valentine, Dorcas, or I will perish from my lovesickness!" I finished grandly. "And now, if you'll excuse us—young love must not be kept waiting." And with that, I swooped an arm around Dorcas's shoulder, and wheeled her around.

We both burst into a fit of laughter.

"Do you know," I said in between laughing, "I quite like your family after all."

Her giggles mixed with tears and without further ado, stood up on her tip-toes and kissed me hard and long on my lips.

A/N: Okay. I'm so sorry if that chapter was a bit…all over the place. I didn't plan some of it; perhaps that's why it came out the way it did.

**As for my infrequent updates, especially for Love is a Funny Thing—GO TO MY LIVEJOURNAL. I WILL BE POSTING (LONGER) REVIEW RESPONSES, CHAPTER SNIPPETS, INFORMATION ABOUT UPDATES AND MORE. THE LINK'S ON MY PROFILE PAGE. FEEL FREE TO FRIEND ME OR COMMENT ON MY PAGE! **

So…hmm…how has life been, everyone? It's been a while. Okay. So…this fic is kind of longer than I've planned. I'm pretty sure next chapter will be the last though.

**Well… please review, with a cherry on top? ;) Gives me tons of motivation to write quickly. Thanks! **

As always, thanks a ton to my wonderful reviewers: **flowing-starlight**: Yes, I quite like Dorcas and the whole canon thing., **shadowy dreamer**, **Rebel Rose**: Thanks a bunch for the compliments, **astraeos**: Thanks. The reason I didn't put in Snape's pensieve thing though, is because…do you think it would have left such a lasting imprint in Sirius's mind? This is a story told from Sirius's point of view, meaning it's things that are important to HIM. The Snape thing was probably not such a big deal for Sirius. Anyway…yeah. I'm glad you like it though, **crazy turtle**: Thanks. And by the way, your story was a really funny one (the parody thing). What kind of beta do you want…a kind of grammar one, one that helps you with plot or characterization, or what, **taniita**: Thanks so much! I'm sorry if there was tension confusion…I wasn't wholly awake when I edited it for mistakes :). I'm also glad you liked the portrayal of Sirius—I really like his character, and I do my best, **watervolleyhp**: Thanks a lot, **Jeran**: lol Yeah, I like canon stuff. She was definitely in the Order picture, though I don't quite recall who she was standing next to at the time., **akagenius04**


	4. Confused in Pink

Harry Potter and all related works belong to J.K. Rowling and all affiliated companies, not me.

* * *

Lily and I were to stay at Dorcas's house for two more days, in order for Dorcas to spend time with her family and relatives, many of which were visiting from out of town. Professor Dumbledore thought it best for us to accompany Dorcas on the train ride back to Hogwarts.

He didn't say why, but Lily and I both knew, without even saying it aloud, that it was for something like 'offering emotional support' to Dorcas.

Dumbledore was a considerate man, and nowadays I feel badly for all the sneaking around and prank-pulling that me, James, Peter and Remus did in our time here.

Though he slipped up by smiling at some of our pranks when he thought nobody else was looking.

Anyway Dorcas and her family lived in a moderately sized, comfortable and cozy house. She gave Lily and me each a guest room to stay in for the two days.

The room held a small bedside table, a wooden cabinet of drawers (unpacking was never in the cards for me, though), and a bed.

A bed which I most thoroughly flopped upon and pondered hopelessly about Dorcas.

I had had many girlfriends, many flings, a whole lot of snogs (which, of course, explains why I'm such a gifted kisser—and I _am_ being modest here), and too many interactions with girls to count, basically.

But, _God_. None of them were like Dorcas. None of them could come close to Dorcas. They couldn't touch the experience of kissing her with a ten-foot broomstick. If there are ten foot broomsticks—

(Actually I think I read in an edition of Quidditch Weekly how they were making a new line of broomsticks for giants—maybe they were ten feet long?)

The point is she kept returning to my thoughts, again and again and again and again…

Especially the kiss.

* * *

We ate dinner that night, all of us—Dorcas, Lily, Tom (Dorcas's father), Juliana (Dorcas's sister), and I.

Particularly sad was the four chairs that encircled the small wooden table. Dorcas, Tom and Juliana all took their seats as if everything was perfectly normal, perfectly alright, as if nothing had changed.

But there was one empty chair belonging to somebody who would never return. I think I could see that realization written on each of their faces.

Dorcas insisted upon retrieving a different chair from the sitting room.

The dinner was silent and evidently Tom wasn't the usual resident cook—the potatoes were hard and nearly raw (though, considering the last time James and I attempted to make potatoes we ended up nearly burning the Potters' whole kitchen down, his attempt doesn't seem too bad in comparison), the meat was overcooked and he seemed to have forgotten vegetables of any sort (not that I minded).

As we chewed on our food in silence, my and Lily's eyes connected in silent acknowledgement that we were intruding upon family grief that we would possibly never be able to imagine, to even fathom.

I honestly don't even know where to start with this. I'll do my best but…

Dinner ended without one word being exchanged.

Lily, in her typical 'politeness-is-the-world's-greatest-trait-possible' fashion, thanked Tom for the dinner as we scraped our plates.

"It was terrible, wasn't it," he sighed, placing his dish into the sink.

Lily fended that one off with a, "No, it was really very good."

He turned to me—he was my height (I was nearly six feet—this obviously bore no resemblance to Dorcas, who was, indeed, not even five feet) and said quietly, sort of gruffly, "She's lying. Can't cook to save my life."

I shrugged noncommittally. "Better than me," I acknowledged. "Last time I tried to cook … I think it was half of the table we burnt down?"

Tom laughed. He had eyes like Dorcas, I noticed—constantly sparkling with appreciation of tiny moments and words. Both daughter and father had the exact, clear shade of blue eyes.

Lily attempted to purse her lips disapprovingly but failed. "It was you and James, wasn't it," she said resignedly, and Lily, Dorcas, Tom and I all laughed.

"Indeed it was." I said, fondly remembering.

Dorcas, Lily and I continued our conversation as we made our way up to Meadowes's staircase. Dorcas and I went into our own rooms, while Lily went off to keep Juliana occupied.

This…this is where it gets slightly difficult to explain. It's…

In short, I lay around my room for awhile, pondering.

Dorcas was easily the most confusing girl in perhaps the whole world. Which other female would kiss me while crying, of all things, then not acknowledge that it'd happened in the first place?

I'd immediately had to break away and ask if she was okay, because obviously she was crying, not like I could just let her sit there and sob. She hadn't managed to answer when Lily dragged her away firmly by the hand, presumably leading her towards the nearest girl's bathroom so they could conduct a 'girl talk'.

Well, not too depressed to be left out of that—too much of this emotional stuff isn't good for a man's brain. Don't ask me why—it just _isn't_, and that's a fact of life.

These thoughts seemed to be taking over my brain.

It was utterly terrible—I was thinking so much I was practically turning into _Remus_.

Anyway. After finding a particular joy in the pastime of counting the number of times I heard Lily emit a LOUD laugh at whatever Juliana's antics were, I decided to get up, and do something to take my mind of this silly 'thinking' business.

I got up and idly wandered down the hallway—when I heard—

My body visibly tensed and my heart sped up as I heart the sound of muffled sobs from Dorcas's room. After staring at the door for a few seconds, I pushed the door open, knocking as I went.

Dorcas, in a light pink bra and underwear, stood, clutching something in her hand, crying and attempting to muffle the sounds with a sweater over her mouth. Seeing me, she began to cry even harder. Her blue, large eyes were full of pain and her hair was down and she was utterly totally and completely gorgeous.

I'm afraid I may have stared for a second or two longer than I should have.

I quickly shut the door, as the sobbing resumed.

_What the hell do I do?_ I wondered to myself, as Dorcas continued sobbing even louder, penetrating the wooden door. My hand was on the doorknob, and my heart was beating quite loudly, a persistent drum against my chest.

"Oh—shit. Dorcas, I'm sorry." I said.

The sobs continued, though it sounded as if she was (unsuccessfully) attempting to force words out which were choked by the sobs.

I didn't know whether to go or to stay. I'm sure I looked like a fool, standing there by the doorway for what seemed like an eternity.

I felt worse than ever—had I made her cry harder? It seemed so, although it still seemed as if she was attempting to speak.

"D'you...d'you want me to leave?" I inquired uncertainly through the doorway.

I listened closely as she evidently attempting to control her crying. "N—n—" she burst into another wave of crying, when after a minute she began to struggle with words again. "C---c—come i—n—"

I slowly turned the doorknob, heart beating quickly.

_Keep your eyes up_, I chided myself silently. _Look at her face. Not her body—_

She looked so upset and—

Her eyes had lost their sparkle. They were tired and blue, without their usual glimmer. She sat on her bed now, beckoning me sadly.

I felt like some sort of big footed giant as I made my way towards her. Her skin was so pale, her frame so small yet so exquisite. She looked fragile and beautiful and I wasn't sure that a person this small could take so much pain.

I wasn't aware of how a person could look so beautiful, if tragically so, while they were bawling their eyes out.

She cried and laid her head on my shoulder and I put my hand on her back, which was bare and I felt the silk of her strap under my finger. Her skin was so smooth and I tried not to focus on the feel of her skin and silk under my hand as she cried unrelentingly, occasionally pausing but bursting into tears again periodically.

We didn't talk at all, until I ventured to ask a question. She had taken a small break from crying. "Would you, er, like some, er, clothes or tissues?"

She nodded, large tear-filled blue eyes looking up at me.

I made my way over to her chest of drawers. It was wooden, and similar to the one in the room I was staying in. I also noticed the light rose hue of Dorcas's walls and her room in general, which I had neglected it noting because of the pressing matter at hand—Dorcas crying.

I opened the drawer, pulled uncertainly out a pair of plaid sweatpants and a large white t-shirt, and a took box of tissues that laid on her dresser.

Bringing the supplies back to Dorcas's bed, where she was still crying, though quieter than before, I still felt the pulse of panic in my heart.

"Here," I said, holding the white t-shirt that looked as if it could swallow Dorcas's small frame whole, "erm—hold up your arms, I guess—"

She giggled slightly, through her tears, as she did so. She was a child then, and I could see how she might have been as one.

I slipped the t-shirt over her, and it went down to about her knees. It looked as if she was swimming in the fabric.

"Erm—and the pants," I said, holding them outstretched, feeling rather foolish as Dorcas giggled, standing up, "um—one leg in—"

Dorcas attempted to place one slender leg into the pajama pants, but soon lost her balance. I gripped her waist and steadied her, as she, still giggling, managed to put her other leg in the corresponding leg of the pants, and flopped back onto the bed, taking me with her.

She sat in my lap as I dabbed hesitantly at her face with a tissue.

"There." I pronounced, throwing the last tissue to the ground.

"Thanks." Dorcas said, in an oddly clear, though fragile and somewhat tender voice.

"It's alright—just a tissue—"

"No—" she said, in the same tone "for everything."

"Really, y'know, it's alright, glad to do it, it's not such a big—"

But before I knew it, Dorcas had turned around and I was fell on my back onto her bed and she was on top of me and we were kissing, kissing hard and deep and long and passionate, kissing this beautiful girl with the sparkling eyes like there was no tomorrow.

* * *

I lay on my bed. Thinking had failed me. Laying down like a lump of coal was my favored new pastime. You know, clearing your mind and all that Buddhist stuff. Meditating. Although my hair is so alarmingly gorgeous, shaving it all off would be like…a tragedy to society. And orange robes…okay, so scratch the Buddhism plan.

Anyway. I was just innocently sitting there when I heard a knock on my door.

"Sirius?"

It was Lily.

"Come in." I said rather miserably.

She obliged, sitting on the edge of my bed while I was still sprawled desperately across it. She had a slight smirking smile playing across her lips, one that she was evidently trying to conceal (but not doing a very good job at).

"What do you want?" I asked tragically.

For some reason Lily laughed at my statement. I frowned but let it pass—I was too emotionally 'wrung out' (wow, how metaphorical I was being) to object.

"Are you done yet?" I said rather grumpily. Lily nodded, green eyes shining.

I remembered the set of clear blue eyes that sparkled, and shone as well, and—

Thus went the Buddhism/ meditating /non-thinking /lump of coal plan.

"So. Erm…" she was still trying not to laugh, "…Dorcas told me…about…it…."

She did not have to explain what 'it' was.

"She did?" I asked.

Lily nodded, and could mask her giggles no longer. She burst into a fit of them.

I sat up now. This was ridiculous, totally incomprehensible—what the hell was Lily doing? Here I was, in the middle of emotional turmoil, and all Lily could do was giggle at me?

"What the hell is so funny?" I demanded. "I hear her crying, walk in, she's wearing only a flipping bra and underwear, I go back outside, she tells me I can come in, she sobs on my shoulder for awhile, I get her tissues and clothes and then we snog on her bed and then she starts crying. _Again_." I said.

Lily looked to be actually crying (I couldn't take much more of this crying business) from the hilariousness of my story—I couldn't see the humor in it. At all. What were Dorcas and I, and, most importantly, why in the name of Merlin did she have to choose the time we were _snogging_ to bawl her heart out?

"Lily!" I said petulantly. She stopped giggling (and good she had—it had been nearly an eternity) and wiped a tear (from her incomprehensible spell of laughter) from the corner of her eye.

It took a minute more for her to fully recover.

"Sorry," she said, still grinning, "sorry. It's just…well…"

"Well what?" I asked.

"…you looked so…so…"

I waited patiently, as lumps of coal do.

"…confused. And it's just so…"

_Remember the Buddhism, the non-anger, the orange robes, the …_ I said to myself, in order to remain calm through Lily's agonizingly slow, drawn out sentences.

"…well, you've got to admit it's funny, isn't it, looking back?"

"It is NOT funny. The only two times we've snogged, she's ended up crying!"

Lily still grinned and her eyes still sparkled, but at least she'd ceased laughing.

"…even this hasn't happened to James and I…" she murmured under her breath.

"No need to rub it in." I sighed. "Explanation of the female mind would be appreciated at this point."

"So…" she began, a bit more seriously, her red hair glinting, "Dorcas is very confused right now."

I let her continue without remarking, though it was admittedly difficult.

"Her mother just died, obviously. And she likes you, but she's thinking that maybe she's just snogging you to take her mind of her mother. And she's also thinking that maybe she shouldn't be snogging you right now, because she should be just thinking about her mother and she thinks it's not really proper to snog during mourning time for your own family. And she's worried about her sister. And her Dad. And every time she snogs you all these thoughts get triggered and she gets worried and stressed out and sad and so then she starts crying. Oh, and she thinks _you_ think she's acting like a baby, what with crying so much."

"Lily."

"Yes?"

"The female mind. Just…what?"

* * *

The train ride back to Hogwarts was pretty much uneventful. Dorcas's head rested in my lap as she laid long-ways across the seat.

Lily just smiled.

For some unknowable reason (honestly, I don't remember how), we got onto the topic of what our dear teachers wore to bed.

I'd handed out the butterbeer and chocolate as usual, and Dorcas was stealing sips from my bottle periodically.

Not that I minded. But anyway.

"Professor McGonagall—what do you think?" Dorcas offered, reaching up with a smile and taking yet another small sip of my butterbeer.

"Long, green velvet nightgown—long-sleeved, with a matching bun-holder-in."

"Bun-holder-in?" Lily questioned, with a snort, spraying butterbeer a short distance.

"That's what it's called, isn't it?" I asked, slightly confused.

"Normally a hair-tie," Lily said, "but, you know. Wasn't expecting you to have known."

"It would have been weirder if he had known." Dorcas said.

"Too true. Anyway, what about Pince?" I questioned.

"Matching pink bra and underwear set—never know what she gets up to with Filch." Lily said.

Dorcas and I both blushed something awful. We simultaneously turned our gazes to the floor pointedly.

Lily, for a second, didn't realize the significance of what she'd said.

Then her eyes turned wide, for a second, and she sprayed some more butterbeer out of her nose, saying, "Oh—Dorcas, your—you wore—pink br--you—Sirius, y—"

And she promptly threw herself into a fit of laughter.

Dorcas's cheeks were decidedly pink as she looked up at me, and we both joined in the laughter uproariously. My sides hurt and Dorcas's giggles were silent she was laughing so hard.

After awhile, we had all calmed down (at least a bit).

"Oh, I'm sorry, you two, I had no idea—you both looked so guilty, and—"

"Lily," I said, sighing dramatically, "it's okay. You know you've had similar experiences with dear Jamesiepoo."

Lily's cheeks flamed with color. "That's not fair." She argued. "James isn't even here to defend my bra color!"

"It's not _your_ bra we're talking about," I said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "we're discussing _James'_s purple one!"

A/N: Hehe. I just had to do that. The last line I mean.

Soooo……I'm sorry if this chapter was slightly depressing. Yes. But I do hope you enjoyed all the Sirius/Dorcas. I'm certainly enjoying them. What did you guys think? Inquiring minds (namely me) would like to know.

Now, onto the predicted length of this story. You know, when I began, I didn't really know—at all—where I was going with this. I thought it would be a one-shot but obviously my fingers had other ideas. So…this will probably be six chapters. Unless some plot idea takes over in my head, yeah, it'll be six.

So. **Reviews. Um…okay. I'm really not trying to sound ungrateful or bratty or whiny or anything. But. I have Love is a Funny Thing (my main chaptered story—which, by the way, is nearly done--), and I'm going to be having school work. And a lot of it. So—can you guys please review, so I can kind of estimate how many people actually read it? I know this story is not as popular as my other fics. It's just—if you want me to be motivated, honestly, reviews are the key. I can't know if you like something or not if you don't tell me. So please review because I don't know if you like this or thing it's a piece of worthless fanfiction. Plus I'm having a really crappy day. Again, sorry for being bratty/whiny. Just, please. Review. Thank you so much.**

**Aaaaanyway—onto reviews. You guys are wonderful**:

**Sunny (a.k.a Sunsun18)**: Thank you so much. Yes. I don't think Lily's really jealous of the whole Sirius/Dorcas thing, but…maybe very slightly. She kind of envies their…intensity, I guess. I don't know. Sorry, I'm not making very much sense.

**Rebel Rose**: Heehee. Love your jokes, as always! I'm glad you liked the story too.

**Crazy turtle**: I'm glad you like this story. Hmmm. You can get betas on a site I know called Perfect Imagination but I don't think the link will show up here. Sorry. Hmmm. Interesting question that you ask—this story will be around—maybe—the longest, 6 chapters. Longer than I previously expected.

**JadeGreen14**: Thank youuuu! And now I know who you are from livejournal, hehe!

**AllIWannaDo**: Awww, thanks! I try to keep them in character—it's how I imagined them, at least. Yes, it is rather sad, the whole James/Lily with Sirius just kind of looking on from the sidelines. As you rightly said, though, now he has Dorcas.

**Shadowydreamer**: Thank you so much!


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